


High Neon

by diamondHead



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-explicit oral sex, PWP without Porn, Sex Work, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23094637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamondHead/pseuds/diamondHead
Summary: The Son visits a strip club.
Relationships: The Son (Hotline Miami)/Reader
Kudos: 13





	High Neon

**Author's Note:**

> when the frustration of not being able to finish a level for 30 minutes hits

"We have a visitor!"

The Madam's thickly accented voice echoed in the dark, silent room, making a few of the girls currently resting on the old, mismatched couches curse under their breath. You sat silently in your little corner, allowing the hand-rolled cigarette waste away between your fingers. To some degree, you knew this was coming. The Madam had been anxious all day, barking orders and insults at the overworked strippers every time they stepped backstage and out of the sea of white suits, blue dress-shirts and well-polished guns. The poor girls looked ready to collapse. You kept to yourself, watching the suited men move around the club, crowding the strippers and waitresses and demolishing the club's reserves of alcohol. 

It's been like this for weeks now, and there's no sign of things getting better as far as you could see. The Russian mafia was back, and it was here to stay. The Colombians had been good to the club, they had been good to you and your affinity for hard drugs. Now that the Russians were back in town, the chances that the market would go back to guns and explosives were very high. Your eyes met the Madam's and the grim darkness within made you sigh, your hand automatically coming down to crush the cigarette against the sofa's polished, wooden armrest. Something was not right. The Madam knew better than to put you under call. Everyone knew better. Maybe the Colombians' downfall had brought your own downfall in kind. Perhaps the Madam thought that you were no longer going to be able to provide supplements for the girls. The older woman approached quickly, heels clicking against the dark floor, lips pressed in a grim, tight line. You stood up. 

"Your services were requested."

You nodded silently and followed after the Madam, lost in your own thoughts. You were lead towards the private rooms, through the dark, red hallway, among gaudy decorum and loud gasps and moans. It seemed that this guest was a special one, as the Madam was slowly but surely leading you towards the few VIP rooms the club had available. You resisted the urge to whistle along to the thumping techno music, already craving something to take the top off. You would have to find another producer or you risked going back to Krokodil, the only drug you had sworn off. Twice. 

"This man," the Madam spoke lowly, "this man is the one who has brought this upon us."

You hummed in response, thoughts still running through your head at sober speed. 

"They say he killed the Colombians. All of them, he killed by himself. They say he's a mad man."

"Who is saying this, boss?" you asked, finally brought back to the present time by the mention of your old business partners. 

"I don't know how, but he has learned of your involvement," the Madam continued, "and he has come requesting that you disappear. I told him, no my child, the girl was forced by her circumstances! The life of a young woman in this industry is hard. She will serve you as she served them, there is no use to end her life!"

You stopped in place, running your expensive fake nails through your hair. You knew that the Madam cared about you. You knew that despite having lived here, in the USA, for longer than you did, her English was still quite bad. You knew that, technically, she was right. You had no qualms about working for the Russians like you worked for the Colombians, as long as business was possible. The Madam had stopped as well and turned to look you in the eyes. 

"You are a strange one, cherie... I do not want to lose you because of some politics. I know that you can do this for us and for your life. That is why I let him call on you."

You nodded. Sex work was never on your mind, even after you had settled yourself as a permanent fixture of the club. Being both a dealer and a user of the hardest drugs on the market, with an affinity for methamphetamines, was enough work. You weren't adverse to it though, rather indifferent in fact, so this was not a big blow to your ego. In fact, knowing that the Madam cared for your well-being enough to stand up against a man who supposedly took out the entire Colombian mafia of Miami was quite touching. Your hand fell upon the door handle as soon as you reached the door, but the Madam's hand squeezing your shoulder made you pause. 

"Be good!"

The door swung open and you stepped into the dark room with exaggeratedly loud footsteps. The client was waiting for you on the largest couch in the room. When your eyes became properly accustomed to the darkness of the room, you got to see him properly. He was dressed in the usual white and blue, just like his men. The only difference was that he kept his sleeves rolled up and his hands covered by red fingerless gloves. His eyes were covered by sunglasses and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. You approached him slowly, eyes fixed on his dark figure, and slid to your knees as he came to rest his elbows on his thighs. You crawled the rest of the way to the man, taking your seat on the floor between his legs. Your hands came to rest on his thighs, gently pushing his arms out of the way and basically draping your upper body across his lap. You stated up at his shadowed features, thinking about all of the highs this arrangement could get you if only you play your cards right. A smile brightened your features with no effort of your own. Ecstasy was one hell of a drug.

Your sharp nails dug into the fabric of the man's pants, enough that he could feel it but not enough to cause any potential damage and incur his wrath. Not taking your eyes off of him, you laid your head against his left inner thigh just close enough that your touch would only role him up while offering no promise of satisfaction. For some reason you felt as if the man before was not adverse to being dominated, but you weren't disposed to throw all of your chips on that one bet. Still, testing the waters couldn't hurt, you thought. 

"The Madam told me you wanted me dead," you spoke against his leg, flashing a coy smile once the word "dead" left your lips. "I can't say I blame you, I suppose, if what they say is true... "

"And what do they say?"

You smiled again, this time a genuine one. It'd been a long time since you'd heard a Russian accent that pronounced. His conversations with the Madam must have been a riot to listen to. There was a certain edge to the man's gruff voice, but it was softened by a sort of child-like curiosity, almost like he couldn't wait to hear what the other kids on the playground were saying about him. You quickly decided to bite the bait. 

"The rumours are that you were behind the collapse of the Colombians' businesses here in Miami... That you killed them all yourself. Hundreds of people... "

You could feel his body flex as he stood up proudly in his seat and although the room was so dark, you knew that he was smiling. You licked your lips and remained still and silent, your chin resting on his thigh and your wide eyes focused on what you could see of his face. When a large, gloved hand took hold of your hair, you didn't flinch, only smiled wider. When the sound of a zipper being pulled down seemed to echo through the room despite the thumping music your smile only widened more, your eyes squinted in delight. You allowed your hand to slide up from his knee to his cock, now exposed and looking more than ready for what was coming next. He looked like he wasn't going to let you make any moves by yourself though, as before your hand was able to reach him, he was pulling your head forward, forcing his entire length down your throat. You wheezed but continued to smile nonetheless, making a conscious effort to keep your throat relaxed while moving your tongue all about to provide the man with some sort of stimuli. If what the Madam said was true, your life depended on your willingness to make this guy cum. 

You expected a thorough skullfucking but, to your surprise, the supposed death machine was quite gentle, keeping his thrusts shallow enough to avoid choking you. You bit back the urge to roll your eyes and began forcing yourself deeper with every thrust. Soon enough, the hand holding your head fell to the man's side and you were able to take over the motions completely. Glancing over at your client's face revealed that he had taken off his sunglasses, and that his eyes were tightly shut. He seemed to be focusing on his breathing, which had grown so loud that it was overpowering the loud slurping of your current endeavour. You were fine with that, and turned your own attention to pleasuring your strange client. Drool had begun pooling between your breasts and your palms had become lathered with the stuff. You pulled off of his cock for just a moment, to gulp down on the overflowing drool. Before you knew it he was coming, ropes of cum falling on your chest, on your face, in your hair. You sat back on your feet, looking up to him. 

"You will come again, I hope," you smiled sweetly, gripping at your breasts through your already soaked shirt. "It was a pleasure working for you, my new Russian overlord!"


End file.
